


The Sirs and The Search for Magic

by graywhatsit



Series: hfhpau [1]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Gen, Squibs, pantsferdinand's au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4125777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graywhatsit/pseuds/graywhatsit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smith’s never been able to cast spells, but no way in hell are his friends giving up on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. summer

**Author's Note:**

> written all the way back in december
> 
> i've written nearly as much for this au as i have for hatbots

Smith had heard stories from older students, as well as adults, that during the summer, you could have the time of your life. Their schooling was done when they were let out in early June, with the next two and a half months full of lazing about, adventuring, playing, and eating yourself sick with all sorts of treats you didn’t normally get at school.

    Then why was it, on June 15th, he was holed up in Trott’s room in the- unseasonably and unreasonably- boiling heat with his two friends, looking over the laundry list of assignments he had to complete before September 1st, parchment spread before him, quill in one hand?

    Because everyone was a pack of rotten liars, is why.

    “Three essays,” he groaned, flopping back onto the bed, only narrowly missing Ross sprawled out over the mattress. “ _Three_. And two potions, as well as the essays to go along with them, and _then_ two spells?”

    “With spell theory and proper casting technique to go along with it,” Trott added, quill already scratching over the roll of parchment on his desk. He’d been working on it since the train ride home, with no break to stop- at least, not to their knowledge.

    It was truly a sight to be seen.

    “Fucking _brilliant_.” Bitter, he chucked a sweet still in its wrapper at the Ravenclaw, watching it bounce harmlessly to the floor as he continued to write. “We were supposed to have _fun_ \- this isn’t even fourth year yet, and we’ve _already_ got summer homework?”

    “Smith, I’ve seen you write an essay in an hour. And get full marks for it.” Ross turned his head to look at him, only a few inches away. “And you’re already a potions master, you’ll get that shit done before the week is up. Don’t worry about it, we have months.”

    The redhead’s nose wrinkled, more than a touch upset. “And I’ll _need_ months- spells, remember? I can’t even make a god damned spark from my wand, so how the fuck am I supposed to do them?”

    “Isn’t it obvious?” Ross shoved at him, making the Slytherin roll away and onto his back, scooting back a fraction on the rapidly rumpling bed. “We’re gonna help you. We’ve done it for the past three years in school, so who says we can’t help you during the summer? And get out of my face- you had garlic at lunch and it’s already bad enough up here.”

    “It keeps the vampires away, you had it, too, and what are you implying?” Trott finally dropped his quill, turning his chair to glare at the both of them. “Before you two agreed to come and stay with me this summer, it smelled fresh as a daisy- it’s _your_ fault it smells like a pig sty now.”

    “Nah, mate, that’s certified Trott stink- nothing to do with us, and everything to do with _you_.” Mood lightened a bit by the opportunity to bash his friend, Smith swiped another boiled sweet off the bed from the pile, tossing it at Trott.

    He caught it with one hand and chucked it back, nailing the taller boy in the forehead. “Will you stop? If you’re that worried about it, you can go and stay out in the shed. Or go back home. Up to you two.”

    The Hufflepuff thought it over for a minute. “…The scent grows on you.”

    “Speak for yourself.” As the full force of Trott’s glare focused on him, Smith grinned at him, a little sheepish. “I’ll help you with your potions? Come on, you can’t kick me out.”

    “I’m not Ross, I can.” Ignoring Ross’ noise of protest- and slight confusion, as it often was part of anything he said- Trott crossed his arms, continuing to meet Smith’s grin with a glare. “There are some words- I’m waiting to hear them. What are they, Smith?”

    “… You’re a twat and the worst potions student I’ve ever seen?”

    “That’s it- mum!”

    “Shh!” Smith jumped off the bed, moving to clap a hand over Trott’s mouth. “Don’t! I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry and I’ll help you with whatever you want- can I stay?”

    Smug, the shorter of the two pushed him away, calling out a nevermind to the sound of footsteps already ascending the stairs. “Well, I suppose. Help with those potions and we’re square. Oh, and never do that to me again.”

    Even if they weren’t allowed to practice magic outside of school, he feared Trott’s hexing ability; wisely, Smith backed away from him, returning to his homework.

* * *

    His fears only returned that night, once their sugar highs had finally done them in and left them in one big pile on Trott’s new nest of a bed, two of the three snoring like some kind of grizzly bear.

    Smith was left awake, staring up at the ceiling. No, not from the noise of them, and not because of any discomfort from the messed up bed. He was just.. well, _worried_.

    He’d never been able to cast anything, not without help from his friends. Any attempt, any effort on his part left him just a kid with a stick in his hand, no magic, nothing special. Just a squib, as his parents had always loathed, as the wizarding world as a whole looked down upon as some kind of second class citizen.

    He _wasn’t_ one, though! He was Alexander Lewis Smith, and he was _not_ useless! He never had been and he never would be.

    Until it came time to cast some kind of spell, and he could _feel_ the magic there, in his chest, kind of like embers left over from some fire, ready to catch and ignite and just _roar_ \- but they never did. They just sat there in his chest, unable to catch, yet unable to extinguish. He was left in limbo, something insurmountable in his path.

    Potions were always there for him, as were any other kind of thing that didn’t require spellcasting, but that was growing smaller and smaller every day, and if he continued to fail, continued to be called the ‘late bloomer’, watched so carefully by his parents who expected him to be one of the greatest spellcasters of the age, with his bloodline-

    “Smith?” Trott’s sleepy voice cut through his thoughts, making him realize just how tightly he was clenching his jaw.

    “Hm? Yeah, what’s up?”

    “I know you were thinking. What was it? Talk to us- Ross, get up, come on.” He nudged the still-rousing boy, who sat up on his elbows.

    “I’m going, Trott, god.” Ross rubbed at his eyes with a fist before fixing Smith with a look, only slightly dampened by his hair sticking up every which way. “Just talk about it, ‘s what we’re here for. What’s going on, mate?”

    “Not-”

    “Smith, I swear on Ross’ blueprint collection, if you don’t tell us right now, I will get my mum and she will _make_ you tell us. What is it?”

    Both Smith and Ross stared at their third, the latter more than a touch hurt by his choice of swear, before Smith finally spoke up.

    “Alright, but only because your mum scares me.”

    “Thanks.”

    “No problem. Anyway, it’s just..” He sighed, scratching at his gingery hair and making it even more ruffled than it had been. “Just my magic, I guess.”

    “Your magic?” Ross raised an eyebrow, actually sitting up proper at this point. “We’ve already come to the conclusion you don’t _need_ it, haven’t we? We did in, like, first year.”

    “I _know_ we did,” the Slytherin huffed, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t _want_ it. I _want_ to be able to cast spells on my own, I _want_ to be good at it, and I _know_ it’s here!” He thumped at his chest with a fist. “I can feel it. I just can’t _get_ to it.”

    After being quiet for a few minutes, Trott looked to him with a shrug. “Well, why don’t we go and find it?”

    “I’m sorry? _Find_ it?”

    “Yes, Ross,” Trott replied, untangling himself from the pile of limbs and blankets to stagger over to his desk, flipping on his desk lamp. “We’re going to find it. There are ways to unlock these things, every door has a key, every mountain can be climbed. We just need to find the thing that will do it.”

    “Are you mental?” Ross shrugged his own way out of the pile, moving to lean against Trott’s desk, where the Ravenclaw was already scribbling notes on scraps of paper. “We can’t just _leave_! We’re just thirteen!”

    “ _You’re_ just thirteen,” he retorted, still writing, then looked up. “And why can’t we? If there’s a way to help Smith, I’m going to take it. If he wants it that badly, I’m going to help him. Won’t you?”

    Calling his loyalty into question likely wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but it worked- Ross’ brow furrowed in determination, and he crouched down, looking over Trott’s notes. “Where are we going, then? What do we need?”

    “Woah, woah, guys.” Smith raised his hands, finally moving to join his already plotting friends. “Seriously, I appreciate it, but I don’t think something like that exists, Trott. Like, I’m always up for adventure, don’t get me wrong, I just don’t want to waste your time on something that isn’t real.”

    “Funny,” Trott answered, digging through the pile of schoolbooks still on the table, “you do that all the time. And I _know_ it does. You said you wanted it? Well, we’re going to find it for you, no matter what it takes. Are you coming or not?”

    They were ready and determined to help him, he could see it in their faces, watching him carefully. His best friends, willing to do anything and everything to tear down that wall with him. Those little embers stirred and fluttered in his chest, and a slow grin formed on his face.

    “Well, Trott- where are we headed?”


	2. making plans

He’d never expected his rule-abiding, entirely neutral good (something he’d heard from Trott once- something about some kind of game?) friends to completely ditch their studies and probably endanger their entire education for anything, let alone him.

    That didn’t mean he wasn’t grateful for it.

    Finally, _finally_ , he may figure it out. He may become normal. The ever present fear of being scorned, hated, disowned, rejected may just _disappear_ as though it had never existed at all, and, in all honesty, Smith was beyond ready for that day to come.

    But it was Trott, the person who had come up with the very idea in the first place, who preached caution and patience.

    “I know, we’re all ready to figure this out,” he started, flicking through one of his magical history texts, among the stack he may have snuck down to swipe from his parents’ collection, “but we can’t just go, not yet. For one, we need to know what we’re looking for, and where, exactly, it is. After we figure that out, we need to actually prepare ourselves. Who knows how long it’ll take, or what we’ll need to do? I know you like to just take things as they come, but that won’t work, not here.”

    “Why the hell not?” Smith crossed his arms, glaring down at Trott from where he sat, half perched on the overcrowded desk. “You’re incredibly smart, Ross is… Ross-”

    “Hey!”

    “It’s a compliment, mate- and you know I’ve got funds and both of your backs. We can do anything, can’t we? Let’s go, right now!”

    “Smith, I’m going to ignore your obvious insult, but _no_ , we can’t.” Ross reached out, setting a hand on his shoulder. “I know we like to think we’re invincible, but this is _dangerous_. We don’t know what we’re up against, and we aren’t at full strength, let’s face it- we’re kids. We need to plan and be _careful_.” His voice grew softer, though it hadn’t been loud to begin with, in order to keep from waking Trott’s parents. “If any one of us got hurt…”

    “Yeah, yeah.” He shrugged off the hand, glowering. “Parents would throw a fit, the other two of us would throw a fit, everything would go to hell and we’d be no closer. I get it. I-”

    “You just want to figure it out,” Trott finished, continuing to flip pages. “I know you do. So do we, we want you to succeed, too. But it’s not going to come fast, or easy.”

    “Unlike something I could mention,” Ross muttered.

    Trott continued on, ignoring both the comment and the resulting snicker from Smith. “We’ll get there, okay? And I think- knew I saw it in here somewhere!” He stopped his flicking through pages, setting the book flat on the desk, and the other two joined him in leaning over the text to see what, exactly, he was looking at.

    “The Smiths are one of the oldest wizarding families, right? They’ve been around _forever_ in some form or another. And that means…” He turned the page, quickly skimming through the dense wall of text. “They’re just about everywhere in Britain, and they do have an heirloom that just might help you out, Smith.”

    “An artifact? Really?” Smith levelled him with a dry look. “Out of everything in the world, an artifact? Of all of the cliches in existence, _an_ _ancient artifact lost by my family_ is the thing that’s going to save me?”

    “Of course not,” Trott snapped, glaring up at him. “But the person who last owned it will be. Ross, I’m gonna need your help in looking for it, you brought a laptop, maybe we can find something out there.”

    “On it.”

    As Ross hurried to his bags, Trott turned to Smith, the familiar thirst for knowledge clear on his face. “Smith, I’m going to need you to tell me everything you know about your family, as far back as you can remember. You give me that head start, I’ll get you to that Smith in no time.”

* * *

    They hadn’t exactly thought of the fact that wizards wouldn’t exactly be found on the _internet_ , of all places, but it did give Trott a place to store all of his findings, other than on scraps of paper that could be found and read by anyone if they so chose.

    Besides, it could record every word Smith said, and that was more than any spell Trott knew could say.

    Unsurprisingly, he knew quite a lot about his ancestors, having had it drilled into his mind from near-infancy by his parents, proud purebloods they were. All the way back to the very beginning of his family, working as armorsmiths, enchanting even the most basic pieces with magical protections that no sword could attempt to slice through.

    At least, according to what he said.

    He had very little knowledge of the artifact Trott was after- an odd, lighter-type device that Trott had called something like ‘put-outer’, but there was no way that could be it- there was only one of those, or so the other two had heard, and it had no connection to the Smith family.

    Even if it didn’t turn out to be that very item, it was kind of like a lighter, and who would Smith be to turn down the chance to get his hands on a lighter?

    Not Alex Smith, that’s for sure.

    It was only upon seeing the pale golden light from the sun on the white wall of Trott’s bedroom did they decide to put both the research- and themselves- to bed for now. There was nothing to be done without access to more books, and even then, they needed sleep to take notes properly.

    The dense text swam in front of their eyes when they were fully rested, let alone now, and with a figurative bookmark left to place where they paused, the trio fell into Trott’s bed in one big pile, snoring almost the instant they hit the mattress.

    Thank god for their status as teenage boys during the summer- Trott’s parents didn’t even bother to check in on them, figuring their extreme laziness was just part of it all. Eventually, the heat did rouse Trott, who wriggled out from under his two- incredibly heavy- friends to pad downstairs, carrying up another small stack of history books to pour over.

    A good splash of cold water and the other two were awake, cranky, but willing to help continue the search. After a quick break only to scarf down their dinner and say a quick thank you, they were back upstairs and hard at work once more, scribbling and typing and sharing notes and theories.

    Honestly, if school was this interesting, they’d be doing a lot better in classes.

    Finally, at the dawn of the next morning, sky only just starting to lighten into pale gray rather than deep blue, Trott thumped his book closed, scribbling the last of the note he’d copied down.

    “James Richard Smith,” he announced, as proud as he was exhausted, holding up the little scrap of ink-blotted paper. “Recluse, collector of artifacts, and one of your oldest living relatives.”

    “I’ve never heard of this man in my life,” Smith answered, taking the slip of paper to squint at Trott’s scratchy handwriting. “And how the hell is he supposed to help me?”

    “He collects all sorts of shit, not just that lighter. One of them is bound to unlock your magic, and even if they don’t, maybe they can lead us in the right direction.”

    “Okay. Another thing: he’s a _recluse_ , Trott,” Ross argued, swiping the paper away to type it into the rest of the notes gathered on the computer. “A _recluse_. Which means no one has seen him in a really long time, and we’re not likely to find a way to him, not any time soon.”

    “ _Yes_ , we will.” Trott had set his jaw, mouth pressed in a determined line. “We’re _going_ to find this guy, because Smiths speak to Smiths, and we have one right here.”

    “Trott, I’ve already said-”

    “Your parents have been telling you about them for your entire life, right?” Smith could only nod in agreement. “Act like you’ve gained interest. Ask about them, try and lead in the direction of J.R. Smith, get information. You’re clever, you’ll find a way to get it out of them, and if not them, someone else in your family. Right?”

    Well, if anything ever worked on Smith, it was an ego boost. “Think I could borrow your owl for a bit?”


	3. one foot forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins, and Trott makes some friends.

Funny how your parents only support your questioning when it’s something they’re interested in, rather than your own interests.

    Rather than even mention the fact he was with so called ‘blood traitors’- a fact helped by their inability to really _tell_ who owned an owl- his parents were more than willing to help him out, explaining anything and everything there was to know about his family history, weighing down the poor tawny owl with likely the largest wad of scrolls any of them had ever seen.

    Poor Eric needed a couple days of rest after that.

    The trio scanned scroll after scroll, reading through the impressively curly and neat calligraphy that his parents preferred to use, copying down what they needed to know and piecing it all together on Ross’ computer.

    From uncle, to grand aunt, to second cousin once removed… detailing just about every Smith in existence at any point in time, a map leading the three of them towards J.R. Smith, all the way back on his father’s side. Luckily, they did happen to mention where he’d last been seen- at least, the last place they knew he had lived, deep in northern forests only a year before the oldest of the three was born.

    It was really the best shot they had.

    “Did they give you a map at all, Smith?” Ross was too busy looking through his things, tossing the occasional book or wad of fabric in Trott’s direction, each one caught and looked over before being thrown back or stuffed into a backpack he’d gotten, enchanted to hold anything and everything they might need. Bag of holding, he called it, though Smith hardly caught the reference.

    “Uh…”  The redhead shuffled through the stack of papers, finding list after list of his family, but not a map to be seen. “No?”

    “Really?” Trott glared over at him- not him, the papers, his parents- though not missing an item tossed his way. “They give you all of this information, but you don’t get a damned map?”

    “Well, I didn’t exactly tell them ‘hey, I think I’m gonna go _looking_ for them’! Did you really believe they’d give me a map? Even if I _did_ say that?”

    “Worth a shot!” The Ravenclaw sighed, throwing back a shirt in Ross’ direction, muttering a comment about cleanliness under his breath. “Well, ‘northern forests’ is kind of a broad category, and I’d like to not traipse all over England and Scotland looking for a single house.”

    “You know my family, right? You know how they are about… non-purebloods,” Smith replaced cautiously, just as uncomfortable with it as his friends were. “There’s no way in hell he would be around any kind of muggle settlement, and there are only so many wizarding villages up north. They’re all around here, down south, right? And, out of all of the wizarding settlements up north, only so many are near forests.”

    “So,” Ross grunted, hefting up his backpack into his arms, already stuffed to the brim with various rejected things, “We get a list of those places, mark them on a map, and check them one by one. See if anyone there has heard of this guy, or seen any houses in the woods that might belong to him.”

    Trott blinked at the two, glancing from one boy to the other, jaw slightly slack, before turning back to his cluttered desk.

    “You aren’t the only one who can come up with plans, nerd,” Smith called, only grinning as one of Trott’s middle fingers was raised in his direction, his other hand busy looking for those same towns.

    “Fuck off and start looking for maps!”

* * *

    Of course this whole thing meant leaving their families behind, they knew that. Not a one of them would know where they would be, no idea how they were doing.

    In all honesty, it was for the best. They’d stop the trio from doing this, make them stay at home and lecture them for doing something of the sort, of even thinking about it. There was no block for Smith, he was just late, and there was no such thing to speed up that process.

    But they knew better. Knew in that way that only really kids and the young at heart could, with every part of them knowing for a fact that there _was_ something they could do, something that could save their friend from this, and they would not sit by and leave it alone without even one attempt to knock it down.

    So, letters written, each in their own hand and placed on Trott’s desk side by side, they tucked their wands in their pockets, shouldered their bags, and- map in hand, Trott in the lead- took off before the sun even rose.

    It would be a long way from Somerset to the most northern villages on the island, especially on foot, but they knew there were ways, if you were smart enough to find them, and if the three boys were anything, they were smart.

    Brooms, spells, apparition- these things were heavily monitored, not to mention near-impossible for three roughly-fourteen year olds to accomplish at the moment, but they were fit, if skinny. They would simply walk until they were too tired to walk any further, then find another way to go until they were able to walk once more.

    “Smith.”

    “What?”

    Ross reached out to tug the slightly taller boy back and away from the fence. “We’re not taking someone’s horses.”

    “Why not? We need to get places, and they aren’t too different from riding a broom- we’ll just take them where we need to go and bring them back on our way home!” Smith broke away from his grip, once again going to clamber over the wooden fence, letting out an awful choked squawk as Trott pulled on the back of his shirt, bringing him to the ground.

    “We’re not stealing shit. Especially not animals. We’ll get there without resulting to theft. I know it’s against your nature, Smith, but- get off of me!”

    Smith held him in a half-headlock for a moment more, letting Trott squirm to no effect, before finally letting him go. “Fine. What’s your other plan, genius?”

    “We’ll _find_ something, okay? Now come on, if your legs are okay to climb that fence, they’re okay to walk a little farther.”

    Of course their legs all ached- they’d been walking for what honestly seemed like _hours_ \- but there was no hitching a ride here, and they had a very, very long way to go, yet. Begrudgingly, Ross and Smith dragged their legs, feeling more like lead weights, and followed after their third.

    It was growing dark very quickly, and the three of them were still walking, no longer able to feel their legs- truly a blessing at this point- chomping down on the meager meal of cereal bars and dried fruit Trott managed to scrounge up out of his bag. Just as Smith was about to suggest they actually stop for the night, because they’d get no further tonight, Trott stopped in his tracks, staring into the field to their right, shaded blue-gray by the darkness.

    “Do you guys see that?” He whispered, and they could just hear the terror in his voice. Worried, both boys looked where their friend was looking, squinting to try and see what he was seeing.

    “No?” Ross raised an eyebrow, turning to Trott, who still stood frozen. “Mate, there’s nothing there, it’s just some empty pasture-”

    “ _No_.” Trott shook his head emphatically, taking a few hesitant, shaky steps forward, towards.. whatever it was he saw. “They are there, I’m telling you. They’re like..” His brow furrowed as he thought, thinking through everything he’d ever read about magical creatures before snapping his fingers. “Thestrals.”

    “Thestrals?” Smith thought for a moment, looking from Trott to the field before them. “Don’t they only appear to people who-” He stopped, eyes growing wide, then turned to his friend. “Trott, who-”

    “Doesn’t matter. They can fly, and they can walk like any other horse,” Trott interrupted, shaking his head again before moving for them a bit faster. “We can use them, hopefully. Come on, I’ll help you up.”

    As they followed him, more unwilling to leave him alone than anything else, Ross leaned in towards Smith. “What’s a thestral?”

    He paused for a moment, watching Trott reach out a hand towards nothing before he spoke, just as quietly as his friend had. “They’re kind of skeletal pegasi type creatures. Only people who have seen.. well, death, can see them.”

    “You.. you mean.. _Trott_?” It was Ross’ turn for his eyes to grow large, and even in the dark, the empathy was clear on his face. “But he’s.. _who_?”

    Smith shrugged. “I don’t know. But he’s found us a way along. Come on.” Willing his legs- now more tired than ever- to move, he headed for Trott, already beckoning towards them.


	4. thestral airlines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trott is stubborn, and they get further along their way.

He’d somehow managed to gain their trust, enough to allow makeshift leads from belts and strings to be looped around their necks. However that happened, it didn’t matter- they had a way north, according to Trott, and he was just about to jump up onto the back of one of them when Ross grabbed his arm.

    “Mate, it’s late at night and we’re all _t_ _ired_.” He pulled one of the leads from his hand gently, pushing Trott back. “We’re tired and we’re not about to get to sleep on the back of..”He trailed off, waving a hand towards them- nothing for him, but thestrals for Trott. “We can’t guide them, can’t get up in the air, can’t do anything if we’re about to pass out. We can keep them and leave in the morning.”

    “If we go now, they can get back to the field faster,” the shorter boy argued, swiping for the belt still in Ross’ hand. The taller boy simply raised his hand, up and out of Trott’s reach. “Come _on_! Smith, we’ll get it done faster, right? You want it done faster, so come on!”

    “We’re not going to get _anything_ done if you keep being a stubborn twat!” Scooping Trott up, one arm under each of his, Smith pulled him back and away from both the creature and his friend. “Stop wiggling- if you don’t want to walk to find some place to sleep, I _will_ carry you. We’re not going tonight.”

    “Put me down!”

    “Then fucking _walk_!” Setting Trott down on his own two feet, Smith gave him a soft push, handing one of  the leads to him. “Lead your thestral, we’ll tie them up while we sleep.”

    A large tree off to the side of the road would work just fine, with the large trunk and a wide scoop on the far side of it working as some good shelter from both wandering eyes and the elements. After scooping some dried leaves together as some kind of cushion from the solid ground, the one sleeping bag they’d managed to find was spread across it, a lower hanging branch serving as a hitching post for the three they’d rounded up.

    In an instant, Trott curled up in the middle of the bed, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his head, blocking the thestrals from view and cradling his head with one arm, without so much as a good night.

    “It’s summer, mate, can’t be that cold,” Smith commented, to no answer whatsoever. “Alright, fine. Budge up a little, we’re tired, too.” The Slytherin lay on one side of Trott, needing to scoot in close to keep from rolling off of the sleeping bag. “Ross, you sleeping or-” he yawned, adopting a similar position to Trott’s to prop his head up, “-what?”

    “Calm down, give me a second.” Ross, ever careful, triple checked the knots keeping their new rides in place, following one of the leads to pat at something invisible to him, yet solid as the tree behind him. “You guys stay here, alright? No running off during the night?” The Hufflepuff didn’t hear anything, but he could have sworn he felt something nudge at his arm. “I’ll take that as a yes- thanks.” After another pat- god, how weird was that?- he took his place on Trott’s other side. “Night, Smith. Night, Trott.”

    “Night.” He didn’t get an answer from Trott, either, but chalked it up to him already being asleep. Getting as comfortable as he could on their makeshift bed, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

* * *

    Their sleep was about as peaceful as any sleep in the middle of nowhere could be- which is to say, not very peaceful at all. Still, it did give their poor legs some well-needed rest after miles of uninterrupted walking, and that was enough for them.

    Upon waking, Ross noticed several things:

    One, he was the first of the three of them to be awake, and at the very crack of dawn, as well, the world just starting to grow light enough to see.

    Two, the three of them were definitely in one big pile now, having curled in closer to stay warm and comfortable during the night. Trott had pressed his face right into his chest, still snoring quietly, and the feeling of warm breath shifting his hair showed where, exactly, Smith had ended up.

    Three, their rides were still there, the leads attached to the above branch still curving up to show the creatures were still there, waiting patiently- or, perhaps, just as dead asleep as his friends were.

    And lastly, four- the place on his shirt where Trott’s face was pressed was damp, and with his mouth closed and eyes a little swollen, Ross could just guess what that wetness was.

    “Oh, Trott..” He hadn’t wanted to get a move on out of pure stubborn pigheadedness, and he hadn’t shielded his eyes to get to sleep faster. He wanted to see as little of these creatures as possible, because they reminded him of.. well, whoever he’d seen.

“God damn. Alright, guys, come on, get up!” He tossed his head, cutting off Smith mid-snore and jostling Trott awake. “It’s morning, let’s get a shake on.”

“Ross, we just fell asleep, shut up,” Smith slurred, turning over to bury his face again and moving their third once more.

“Stop moving around! Is it really morning already?” Trott sounded just as grumpy as Smith did, but even he sat up, rubbing at his eyes to wake up faster. “Seriously? It feels like I just got to sleep.”

“We’ve been asleep for at least.. ten hours? Ish?” He hadn’t bothered to check the time, and Smith was actually laying on his watch. “Somewhere around there. We wait much longer, it’ll be broad daylight, and unless you’d like people to see us riding on _nothing_ or a _skeletal horse_ , I’d suggest we get going.” Ross struggled to his feet, giving a loud groan as his muscles fiercely protested, straining against his movement.

“Shut _up_ , I’m trying to- hey!” Smith glared up from the pile of leaf litter he landed in, Trott moving back from pushing him over.

“We’re going now, so if you’d actually like to get this damn thing figured out, I suggest you get up, too.” Trott gritted his teeth, very slowly rising to his feet with help from the tree behind them. “And be careful when you do. God, we didn’t even stretch before we fell asleep.”

“Something for next time, then.” Smith followed his friends’ lead- albeit with much more swearing and teeth clenching- and moved to roll up their sleeping bag. “Think we have time for a little breakfast, first? I’m a growing boy and I need my food.”

Ross got to the bag first, throwing an apple and another granola bar at him. “We’re all growing boys, you knob. We’ll eat whilst we ride, right?”

“Then we can get up in the air and fly the rest of the way.” At his friends’ looks, Trott grinned, likely the first one they’d seen in at least a day. “Don’t worry, should be just like riding a broom. Come on, saddle up.”

Turns out, it was absolutely nothing like riding a broom.

For one, they couldn’t even _see_ the creature they were on, making it seem as they they were just flying as they were. Which would be entirely exhilarating if they were absolutely sure as to where they could hold on to keep from plummeting, resulting in them holding the leads for dear life.

A broom was smooth and steady, gliding easily, but these creatures actually _moved_ , front and back legs churning as though they were galloping- at least, according to Trott- and with every up and down motion, a pair of strong wings- again, according to Trott- slammed into their legs.

Kind of like a hippogriff, as they’d heard from some people, but infinitely more terrifying. At least it did get them off of their aching legs for a while.

Another thing proved true- thestrals were _fast_. They knew they’d hardly been out of Somerset that morning, but when they finally stopped for a bit of lunch to eat and to give the thestrals a break, they found themselves already over halfway to their destination.

“Damn, Trott.” Smith looked down at the map, following the trail his friend had so carefully marked with a finger. “Keep that up, we’ll be there tonight.”

“Which means,” Ross picked up, stuffing his trash into his pocket, “we’ll get even more time to look for this guy, and even more time after that to get home and clear everything up!”

The Ravenclaw rolled up the map, not looking nearly as cheerful as his friends seemed to be. “Yeah, yeah, good choice, all that.” After brushing off the seat of his jeans, he headed for the thestrals, done with their own meals, and untied them. “Come on, we need to get there before dark. Preferably.”

Rather than comment on his chilly demeanor, his friends quietly obeyed him, once again mounting their rides and taking off.

It was a little cooler up north and almost pitch black when they landed, though the silvery light of the moon up above them served to give them enough light.

“I’m gonna go look for some wood or something, see if we can start a fire tonight to warm up,” Ross announced after once more tying up their mounts. “Can’t have us freezing when we’re this close- Trott already must be an icicle!”

“Fuck you,” his friend retorted, hugging his arms around himself tighter. “I’m skinny but it’s not that fucking cold. Just go and get your damned wood.”

“Ooh, bet you’d like him to get some wood.” Smith’s gritted teeth comment got him pushed over once again, Ross rolling his eyes and leaving them to bicker as he headed into the woods. They’d be done by the time he got back.

In fact, it was much sooner than expected- in the midst of a particularly scathing comeback, Smith was interrupted by Ross’ bloodcurdling scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nice a cliffhanger


	5. what they found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Ross?

“Ross!”

Whatever insults they had left in them were completely dropped, both boys instantly springing to their feet and rushing to the sound.

Ross often screamed and shouted- it was just a normal part of him, and something he couldn’t really help. He was quiet until he wasn’t, mumbling and muttering, completely soft spoken, until entirely random moments where the loudest voice anyone would ever hear could escape him. They really and truly considered it a talent.

This scream, however… this wasn’t just Ross being ridiculous, as per usual. This wasn’t a ‘I tripped and fell but really I’m okay’ scream, and nor was it an excited ‘yes, I found it and you two pricks didn’t, so GFY to the both of you’ scream. This was pure terror, something they’d never really heard before but could never mistake for anything else, and that knowledge hurried their pace, up into a run.

“Ross! What-” Trott’s shout was drowned out by a second scream, this one tinged with more than a bit of pain, and that gave them what they needed to finally draw their wands- Smith’s practically useless- and break through the brush blocking their path.

Ross was down, that’s what they could see instantly. Down on the ground, something dark staining the grass under his upper body, mouth still open in a terrible cry of pain, wand only a few inches from his one outstretched hand.

The moon was what illuminated the cause of it all, and that made it all click into place.

Thick, shaggy fur lit silver by the moonlight, body gigantic and muscular, nearly as tall as Trott at the shoulder and a long snout with white fangs dripping red, bared in a snarl as glowing eyes flickered to focus on them, instead. The full moon, deep in the forest- how stupid could they possibly be?

“Guys..” Ross’ tight voice snapped both the boys and the beast out of their trance, and the werewolf turned to finish their wounded prey rather than take on two more able-bodied ones.

“ _Stupify_!” A jet of light shot past Smith, slamming the giant wolf in the shoulder and knocking it slightly off balance, huge head turning now to look for the source.

“Trott, you-” Actually… Smith ripped off his pack, opening it up to dig through his belongings. A weak stupification spell would hardly do much to a creature that big, but there was something that near every being- save a few- would definitely keep away from. Grabbing the pouch deep within his backpack, he shook out one of the dark, rapidly warming pods into his hand, chucking it in the werewolf’s direction.

He was no Keeper, however- his aim was more than a bit off, nearly hitting Ross when the pod burst open, scattering embers all over the ground and quickly catching the soft grass.

Voice shrill with fear, Trott spoke up, not once looking away from the beast in front of them. “Smith, what the fuck are you _doing_?”

“Trying to _hit_ it. Try!” The smaller boy caught the bag tossed to him, nearly dropping them in his panic. Luckily, none of them caught, and he scooped up one closest to his foot, whipping it as hard as he could in the direction of the creature.

No dice- it veered off to the right and burst open in a patch of damper grass, smoldering and sputtering before dying. They needed to hurry, the werewolf was quickly growing impatient and more than a bit annoyed- if they didn’t take care of this _now_ …

“Trott, throw one at me!”

“What?”

Smith swiped a fairly chunky stick off of the ground, hefting it from hand to hand before swinging once. “Just do it!”

Smith had made his share of stupid, reckless plans in the past, but Trott had yet to see one of them fail. Taking a breath, he wound up his arm and chucked one last pod at his friend, hoping that he’d actually be able to aim.

With a solid, incredibly satisfying _crack_ , he hit the pod, sending both the shell and a shower of sparks right into the creature’s face, smoking there as they started to spread. With a yelp of pain, the werewolf backed away, shaking their massive head before turning tail to run.

Any other time, they’d celebrate such luck, but now was not the time. Quickly abandoning the stick and bag of pods, Smith and Trott rushed to Ross, turning pale and clenching his jaw.

“T-took you long enough,” he ground out, and it was all Smith could do not to shove him.

“If you weren’t hurt…” He trailed off, just shaking his head before moving to take a look at his shoulder. His shirt here was torn to shreds, the skin underneath not much better, still sluggishly bleeding out dark red over the ground. A very deep bite- he was no expert, but he knew at least that much. “Fuck, Ross… okay, Trott, I need you to- Trott?”

The Ravenclaw looked nearly as pale as Ross did, shaking and looking down at the wound, looking beyond terrified. Smith had never known him to be squeamish about blood, but- his boggart, from the past year. _Both Ross and he laying there, ripped apart and bloody…_

“H-hey, Trott. Look at me, mate, look at my face.” Blinking slowly, Trott did just that, focusing on Ross’ face, watching him closely. “I’m okay. I’m alive, see? Talking to you right now, heart’s still beating, still breathing.”

“He’s just fine, I promise,” Smith joined in quietly. “He’ll be okay. I just need you to get me some things so we can patch him up, yeah?”

He swallowed thickly, trying to steady his breathing as he looked up at Smith. “I- yeah. Yeah. What?”

“Need some kind of bandages, some water and maybe soap to clean him up, and, if you can, my potion things from my bag.”

“Potions? Are you gonna heal him?” Smith shrugged, wiping his hands on his pant legs.

“I’ll try, won’t I? Come on, we can get out of here then.”

* * *

He’d already used one spell, so he would already be in trouble- besides, casting _incendio_ was much faster than trying to fumble with matches and kindling.

“You wanna make the potion, or you wanna clean him up?” At Smith’s question, Trott gave him one of the driest looks he’d ever managed, reaching out for the little bowl of water they’d managed to warm up.

“Fair enough.” Handing over the water, soap, and a rag, Smith swapped places, wracking his memory for a mild healing potion- at least something to get rid of the pain for Ross, still murmuring to Trott as though he’d been the one hurt. Selfless bastard.

He huffed to himself as he mixed and measured ingredients in his collapsable cauldron, stirring over the bluish flame Trott had conjured up. If he did this right, he could be a field medic. What his parents would think of that. Maybe he’d do it just to spite them.

He’d do anything to spite them at this point, at any point.

“Hey, Ross, open up, I’ve got something for you.”

“Oh, god, if it’s what I’m thinking it is, I’d rather we not.” Ross wrinkled his nose, watching Smith shuffle over, small cauldron in his hands. “I’m good.”

“It’ll help, now shut up and drink, you prick.” With help from Trott, lifting his head, Smith managed to get him to drink down the- rather terrible tasting- potion, slowly but surely.

“Can’t you actually make it taste, you know, _good_?” Ross licked his lips, trying to rid his mouth of the terrible flavor.

“When I figure out how to make spleens, slime, and stings taste like a Kinder bar, you’ll be the first to know,” Smith responded dryly, putting aside his now-empty pot. “Looking any better, Trott?”

“Not really.” The shorter boy still winced as he pulled aside the torn scrap of fabric covering Ross’ shoulder. “Still b-bleeding and everything. Maybe because it’s a werewolf.. bite…” His eyes widened and snapped up to look at Smith. “Smith, a _werewolf_.”

“No. It’s not going to be like that.” He handed over the length of fabric to serve as a bandage, helping to get the wrapping started. “He’ll be fine, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Right.” Ross hissed at the tightness of the bandage, clenching his jaw until it was finally finished. “It’s not important right now, anyway. We need to get where we’re going, and you know- _not_ stay in the woods anymore. Please.”

“Good idea.” After packing up what they’d brought over, the trio hurried to their thestrals- a little skittish now, especially around Ross, and it took some extra coaxing to allow him up- and let Trott lead them forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm were!ross trash


	6. manse smith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys find what they were looking for.

The thestrals weren’t the only ones on edge; after that attack, even the slightest noise by anything in the woods had the trio digging their heels into their mounts, silently hurrying them along. One of their number was already injured, and there wasn’t much either Smith or Trott could do alone if ambushed again.

Even with their worry, there was no rest to be had for them. Though their eyelids grew heavy and the shadows grew darker, the pale light of the moon slowly fading behind tree and earth, they could not sleep. Any weakness and it could happen all over again, and they were not about to face that. Tonight would be a sleepless one, and they just had to keep moving in search.

“We’re close, I think,” Trott muttered, just loud enough that his friends could hear. “We’re just approaching Bogshot, and that’s the first on the list.”

“Thank god. Think we might be able to get a place to stay?” Though Ross tried to conceal it, sitting up tall on his ride, his shoulder was still clearly bothering him. The tight quality to his voice wasn’t from saddle sores.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure any inn would let a couple of kids in with no questions. I’ll just drop a few Galleons and we’ll be all set,” Smith snapped, glaring at the back of Ross’ head. “Really smart, Ross, thanks for that.”

The Hufflepuff pulled on his lead, turning back slightly to face his friend, an uncharacteristically nasty look on his face. “Excuse me for wanting to make sure we actually get to a safe place for the night! You know, I try and look out for you, but when you repay me like that, maybe I’ll stop. Just leave you to it and turn right back around and go home.” He gave the lead another tug, turning his thestral further.

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Smith urged his ride forward, blocking Ross’ path and meeting his glare. “You preach patience and all that shit, but a bit of sarcasm and you’re done? I’ve said way worse before!”

Ross bared his teeth. “Before isn’t now, and maybe that was the last fucking straw. I’m sick of trying to keep you two safe when you all go out of the way to get into trouble.” He sat up a bit taller, staring down the Slytherin in front of him. “I was trying to get that werewolf _away_ from you, you knobhead- maybe I should’ve let it hunt you down!”

“Guys!” A rock sailed between the two of them, snapping them out of their staring contest, and both boys turned to look at Trott. He still sat on his thestral, holding a second rock in his palm with an incredibly displeased expression. “You need to shut the _fuck_ up. We’re tired, and Ross’ bite is starting to get to him already- the middle of the forest on the full moon is _not_ the place to have a _loud_ argument, no matter what’s going on. Maybe we can get a place, maybe not, but we need to _shut up_ and _keep moving_.” With a huff, he turned forward, back onto the rocky path they’d been following, and let the little torch he’d brought light the way, clearly expecting them to follow.

After a moment of just staring at their third, getting further and further ahead, Smith and Ross simply decided to follow quietly.

* * *

After- possibly- an hour of walking along, the silhouette of Trott in front of them raised a hand, walking out and to the side of a little gap in the trees.

“Trott, what-” Ross stopped, halting his thestral next to Trott, staring up and ahead at something Smith couldn’t quite make out yet through the trees. “Smith. Smith, _look_.”

“Is it Bogshot? My ass is killing me, maybe we can get off and walk for a bit, find some place not in the open.” Certainly sounded like a good idea- a town full of wizards and witches and the like would be much safer than spending the night out here any longer.

And he would really have liked no longer sitting on this bony as fuck thestral.

“No, but really, _look_.”

“Then _what_? I thought we were looking for the town, so what could have possibly…”

He blinked, finally coming to a stop. “Well… that was easy.”

Before the trio, sitting tall, crooked, and dark, was a very old, very crumbling house. The grounds, surrounded by a stone and iron fence, were equally in disrepair. The plants of once well-tended gardens were green and lush, taking over the entirety of the place, climbing over and through the walls, reclaiming the space taken over by whomever had lived here.

Which really wasn’t too difficult to find, not when the trio moved forward towards the fence as one. Trott, the closest and the one with the torch, leaned in a little closer, squinting at some kind of symbol on a flagstone. “Hey, Smith? Does your family have any sort of crest?”

“Yeah, haven’t you seen the thing they plastered on my trunk?” He wrinkled his nose in clear distaste. “Let me guess- it’s a wand and a steel hammer crossed?”

“Yep.”

“With some stupid Latin saying?”

“Yep.”

“On a snake?”

“And yep. Three strikes- we’ve found it.” Trott sat back, frowning. “Or some Smith, anyway. Is there any light on inside that you can see?”

Ross gave him a look, pointing up at the sky. “Trott, it’s the actual middle of the night. Do you really think anyone would be awake at this hour?”

“We are.”

“Well that’s because we’re a bunch of idiots,” the Hufflepuff answered. “And anyway, no one’s been here in a very long time, you can tell. This place is completely abandoned.”

Before Trott even got a chance to answer, Smith interrupted him. “We’re not going into an abandoned mansion in the middle of nowhere. Trott, we are _not_ , you are _smarter_ than this.”

“Look, do you want to find an answer to this shit or not?” The Ravenclaw crossed his arms.

“Not badly enough to maybe _die_.”

“Smith, we came all this way. We are riding _thestrals_ and I got bitten by a _werewolf_ for this.” Ross hopped off of his ride, moving to push open the rusty gate. “We’re not turning back now. Give me a hand, will you?”

The redhead gaped at the both of them, struggling and eventually succeeding in shoving the gate wide enough for them to squeeze through. “You two have no fucking common sense!” He yelped, clambering down off of his thestral in order to follow them, limping a bit from the pain of sitting on the damned thing all day. “Un-fucking-believable- get back here!”

* * *

By the time he reached the pair of them, they were already to the heavy wooden door, one of Ross’ hands turning the knob and swinging it open easily. However, before either Trott or Smith could move forward, he held out his wand, his other arm spread out to the side despite the clear pain it caused him, keeping both boys behind him.

“What are you _doing_?” The shortest of the trio pushed at him, trying to go ahead. “You’re hurt, why the fuck are you going first?”

“Because I’m the best at Defense Against the Dark Arts?” Ross glanced back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Now hush- if I need help, you’ll know about it.” Wand kept forward, just in case, he lead the way into the dusty old foyer.

It would have been a fairly nice old house, had it been kept properly. The man who owned it- if they were right, J.R. Smith- had good taste, and, with the Smith fortune and name at his disposal, could certainly afford it. Numerous old artifacts lined the walls, thick with cobwebs, and the creamy marble floor- honestly, it was a surprise Ross was still moving, rather than admiring and drooling over it- was covered in a thick layer of dirt, enough to show their tracks.

It was clear- even before a spell from Trott to make sure it was no illusion- that the entire place was empty. it had been for a very long time. Which meant…

“That’s it, then.” Smith moved over to a case, housing an old pewter cup, looking at but hardly reading the carefully written plaque before it. “No chance.”

“Smith..”

“You said this was it, didn’t you, Trott?” His voice rose a little, but he still didn’t turn back to look at his friends, instead moving onto the next display. “If we couldn’t find my magic here, we won’t ever find it, right?”

Trott gaped at him. “That’s not what I said!”

“Might as well have. He’s _not here_. Hell, for all I know, the guy is _dead_.” The Slytherin paused for a moment, looking at the last item hanging on the wall, an old tapestry nearly so faded one could hardly make out the picture it was meant to show. “I’m never going to find it.”

Before either could speak up against him, Smith took two fistfuls of the tapestry, tugging it down and off of the wall, the brass bar holding it in place clattering to the ground at his feet. In seconds, he was onto the next item, smashing glass open and tossing artifacts on the floor, on and on, over the whole wall.

“Smith!” Ross reached his friend first, grabbing onto his shoulders from behind to keep him from attacking another defenseless case. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you? You’re never like this!”

“First time I’ve felt hopeless, isn’t it?” The slightly taller boy twisted out of his grip, continuing on with his unusual rampage, tossing everything he could find into one steadily growing pile and pushing away his friends any time they got close. “Never gonna find it, I’m going to get kicked out and so are you two, I’m just a god damned squib. Jim let me down?” Ripping off his pack, he dug into a front pocket, pulling out a flip lighter. “Well, I’m going to let _him_ down.” That said, he lit the edge of a cloth, letting the flames ripple down and catch even further.

“What does that even-”

An odd screech, somewhat like metal on metal, interrupted Trott, and the shaking ground following it knocked them all off their feet, Smith only narrowly missing the flames he’d started.

“What did you _do_?” Ross yelped as he attempted to stand, his left arm refusing to hold his weight as he got up off of his knees.

“I don’t _know_ \- Trott, you checked, there weren’t any defenses!”

“I know!” Another loud screech had the trio covering their ears in an attempt to block it out, to no avail- it almost seemed like it was coming from inside their heads. “There wasn’t anything at all, I don’t know what this is!”

**_Blood traitors._ **

The sound once again, bouncing around their skulls, somehow everywhere at once, and now forming words.

**_A squib._ **

“Who-” Smith looked up the wide staircase, attempting to see through the quickly thickening smoke. An oddly blurred red figure stood, watching the three, though faceless, and any attempt to look for more than a few seconds crossed his eyes, shooting pain in his head.

_**No. Power.** _

_**Blocked.** _

_**Will never reach it.** _

_**Unless…** _

“Who are you talking about?”

“Whoever the fuck they are,” Smith started to answer Ross’ question, crawling for his friends still on the floor, “they’d better _fuck off_!”

_**Remove them.** _

Before any of the three knew what happened, some force shoved both Trott and Ross back, slamming them against the wall quickly being consumed by flames. Through the heat waves and the dark smoke, he wasn’t sure if they were even conscious- no response when he yelled for them.

_**What will you do?** _

_**You awoke me.** _

_**Awake yourself.** _

“What does that even _mean_?” Trott’s own question, though his turn to use it. Funny, being on this end of logic. Rather than give any kind of verbal response, the fire seemed to spread faster, the smoke sour and choking, blocking his vision entirely.

_**Farewell, child.** _

_**I have been awoken.** _

_**And soon, I shall be seen.** _

Smith shuddered despite the intense heat. He’d never seen this.. this Red Man before, nor heard of anything like him, but that sentence did not bode well; not for him, his friends, or anyone.

His friends!

_**They will do.** _

_**The only use for dirty blood.** _

_**Spill it.** _

Oh, _fuck_ , no.

“Don’t you fucking _dare_!” Smith snarled, reaching for his wand, still in his jeans pocket after all this time. What could he do, a boy with a stick? What could he ever do?

The one thing he’d always done- protect his best friends.

The embers in his chest flared, melting down whatever may have stood in his way before, and he pointed his wand, using the searing pain from the sight of the being rather than his own eyesight to find his target.

_Do it._

With a yell- honestly, if asked about it later, he wasn’t entirely sure what it had been- he waved his wand, and with a flash of bright, pale blue light- Ross’ eyes, Trott’s favorite shirt- the heat, the pain, and the sour stench of smoke was long gone.

He only just heard Trott’s shout of alarm before he fell to the now soot-streaked marble floor face first.

* * *

 

He woke up to a bunch of yelling and a lot of the sound of rushing water, and he’d be lying if he hadn’t yelled out for everyone to shut the fuck up without opening his eyes.

The townspeople of Bogshot weren’t so happy with him after that, not that they were too pleased in the first place.

He’d never once been so pleased with Trott’s ability to somehow lie on the spot, equivalent to his own, and get only the wrath of Trott’s parents when the two had shown up via Floo.

Dear god, was his mother terrifying. At least she’d agreed to not tell his parents what had transpired.

They were beyond terrified- well, not him, but Ross and Trott- that their few day adventure would expel them from school permanently, with their wands snapped and them forced to live as squibs or- worse, to them- muggles completely.

But, after two long months of letters back and forth, including meetings with Ministry workers and school staff, and maybe a favor or two with his family name- not that he’d tell- they were allowed to return. Under incredibly strict punishments, but allowed nonetheless.

They’d feared the worst with Ross’ wound, and it turned out to be confirmed when looked at by an actual healer- that was an infected bite. In all honesty, he was lucky to survive, apparently, but there was no getting around it- his best friend was a werewolf. Still, that was only a day out of the month, and he’d heard of the wolfsbane potion. With his skill, it wouldn’t be too bad, and he needed to make up for it, somehow.

His magic? Still practically non-existent, but he found it wasn’t quite so hard to breach that wall anymore. In fact, more than a few times, he managed sparks! Maybe all it really took was some time- or, perhaps, a shock.

Smith didn’t know what had happened with the Red Man, if he’d simply imagined things, if he had vanquished him, or if he was still out there, hunting for them.

If he was? He’d just have to work harder- no one  ever attacks his friends and gets away with it, and now he knew what he could do, without that wall?

The Red Man had better watch his back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's another multiparter-- the moon's curse!  
> keep an eye out!


End file.
